Realism is but a word, darling
by SmilingFaces
Summary: I'm a coward, a young girl afraid of many things. But I soon get a taste of reality. And reality says, in a world where you can die instantly, there is no room for cowardice. *Akatsuki capture fic, with a twist. Rewritten. T for gore and swearing.*


**A/N: **Hello! Heh, you could say I jumped the band wagon, but that's not completely true. I kinda... jumped the bandwagon, then changed the wagon completely. -sweat drop- Does anyone understand what I'm saying? Basically, this is going to be a _realistic_ version of the oh-so-overused 'Akatsuki kidnapped someone'. Yeah. I was half tempted to use a guy for this XD I enjoyed writing this short chapter. I hope you enjoy reading it.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Naruto. You'd think the word FanFiction would kinda clue you in. You know, Fan (Someone who likes the show/series/book) Fiction (Made up).

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It all started on Thursday.

It was second lesson, English. I dislike English. Hate is a strong word, but my feelings towards English were pretty damn close. It wasn't because I was bad at it. No, I'm actually pretty good at English. It's just the fact you have to write long, tiring essays every single lesson. Or read a book at an idiot's pace, because we're all 'reading aloud'. It's stupid, I swear. We're all in set one, top set, so, instead of watching 'Saving Private Ryan' or 'Jaws' after our major exams, we're reading some stupid book about drugs. No, thank you, I'd rather read a fantasy.

I was in the back row, middle. I was what most people would class as a 'Swot', or a 'Nerd'. Long, wavy, frizzy and usually unruly ginger hair that swept well past my shoulders, and ginger freckles. Oh, the humiliation. I matched. Dull, green-grey eyes that were never looking where they were supposed to. Currently, I was watching as someone. Fiona, I think (I don't really know her or care for her), was mouthing words to me. 'Where are we?' Oh, the book. I glanced down at my book, and, once realising it hadn't been opened yet, turned to her and shrugged. She sighed, and bothered someone closer to her. God knows why she asked me. I'm halfway across the classroom.

A sudden movement caught my eye, and I turned left. Nicola was beckoning me. I frown, my eyebrows arching in the ever-emotive way that is me. It was only when I realised that Mrs. Smith had shut up, I nodded. It's amazing how the brain can float away to nothingness sometimes. I sighed, slowly standing up. It's not that I don't like Nicola, but- Well, she's incredibly intelligent, yet asks me questions which could easily be answered by anyone in this room. Moreover, she makes me get out of my seat when she could ask the people next to her. But, then again, it was better than the football crazy idiot that sat next to me.

"Tessa?" She whined, in that high-pitched voice of hers. Mine was high-pitched too, naturally, but when she whined it sounded like nails on a chalk board. I stared at her flatly; my hands already perched on my hips. I'm not much of a people person, as you can so blatantly see. Just give me a good book, or a drawing guide and sketch book, and I shall stay happy for the day.

"What's self-immolation?" She asked me, her voice no longer high pitched and squeaky. If I had had the ability, I would have raised a single eyebrow in surprise to this question. I wasn't sure where it had come from, or why she wanted to know. The only fact I was sure of was that it was a completely random question and had nothing to do with our book.

"Self-immolation is a form of suicide, were the person offers themselves up to their God, normally by fire." I answered, watching her reaction. Her 'dazzling' smile disappeared as I had finished, and turned into a small, childish pout. "Though I couldn't imagine why you would want to know." I added at the end, before crossing my arms. Something, perhaps the twinkle in her eye, said that this had been one of those times when she had tried to catch a hole in my knowledge. Therefore, she had failed.

"What about ineffable?" She asked, and, again, I wished I had the ability of raising one brow without its partner joining it. I stared at her for a few seconds more, before sighing.

"The inability to express yourself correctly." She frowned at this, instead of pouting. I was partially glad, because pouting made her look like a stroppy four year-old, and I had enough of those at home. She was about to speak again, before the loud and unmistakeable voice of Mrs. Smith interrupted our 'Brain fest'.

"Theresa Jordan, get back to your seat." She hissed, her voice hoarse from all the shouting she had done earlier this lesson. I sighed, once again, and walked back to my seat, after shooting Nicola a reproachful look. I glared at the teacher when her back was turned. I absolutely despised my name. Tessa was bad enough, being American, but Theresa was awful. Words do not describe my hate for my Godforsaken name. The boy besides me, the football crazy one, snickered at the use of my full name. I rolled my eyes in response. So immature.

Then, I had a near heart-attack. The door, which, ironically, Nicola was sitting right next to and was directly behind me when I talked to her, blew up. Into a million, million pieces. And, of course, I screamed. But most people screamed because we were being attacked. I screamed because I have Ligyrophobia, which is the oh-so-uncommon fear of loud noises. Not a pleasant fear when your five-year-old sister is a maniac who enjoys stomping on balloons with all her tiny might. Then, a chuckle resounded through the room. It was not a nice chuckle either, and made goose bumps rise on my arm.

"Well, well, well." A voice said, and the bottom of my stomach twisted into such a tight knot I feared it would snap. The voice was malicious, and practically spouted 'I can kill you easy, but I'd rather torture you'. I swallowed, and looked down at my hands, only to realise they were still shaking. Shaking very violently, might I add. I wasn't over the exploding door incident, then, was I?

Four people - men - stepped through the blatant whole where the door should be. My eyes travelled to them, and their arms. Oh, dear God-

"They have guns!" A girl screeched. I recognised the voice as Fiona, and involuntarily rolled my eyes. Trust her to point out the obvious. Nevertheless, other screams of terror erupted round the room, all from the girls. Now, I am by no means brave (quite cowardice, actually), but their reaction was ridiculous. Guns, yes, but most guys in year 11 had guns now-a-days. However, in spite of my thoughts, I could feel myself shaking. Shaking, and unable to take my eyes off of the man who first stepped through the door. He had rolled his eyes at this.

He stepped forward, and, to my shock and horror, aimed the gun at Fiona herself. Her wails of despair and fear immediately stopped, and the room became deadly silent. His hand moved to the left slightly, and he pulled the trigger. Fiona flinched, but the bullet was not to be, as it imbedded itself in the cupboard behind her. The whole room let out a breath. The ginger haired man, whom I took as the Leader considering he had almost shot at someone and his cohorts didn't make a move, nodded to the other three.

"Everyone, in a line." He ordered, his hand, with the gun in, twitching to the wall nearest the blown up door. Nobody moved for a moment, and the ginger haired man sighed. He pulled the trigger once more, and shot into the wall. We all started walking to the wall, most of us running. No one wanted to be on the end of that gun. Speaking of which… I took a closer look at it. Considering he shot two bullets without reloading, it meant it was a semi- or automatic. The size, shape and such, made me think of a 'Saturday Night Special', A.K.A. Junk Gun. But Mouse guns and Pocket guns weren't out of the question either. This also meant that, since he'd used two bullets, he had eighteen left.

Not a very comforting thought. Anyway, I didn't want to get on the receiving end of it. Any of those three categories could blow a decent sized hole in your head at three feet. I shuddered slightly at the thought, squishing in between two people and backing up against the wall as much as possible. What these sadists wanted, no one knew, but I sure didn't want to find out. And I sure as hell wasn't getting in the way. Remember what I said before about my cowardice? Yeah.

Suddenly, Mrs. Jones came running through the door. We all stared at her, wondering what the hell she was playing at. She was frozen on the spot, eyes locked with the ginger haired man. A sick, twisted smirk placed itself upon his lips, and he lifted the gun, pointing at her. She barely had time for a strangled cry before blood sprayed the wall behind her, and she fell with a solid thump. There was a noise from the class, which sounded like a mix between a gasp, a choke and a cry. One girl burst into tears, and another two fainted. I suddenly realised that I had Hemaphobia. Fear of blood. I felt like throwing up, but there was nothing in my stomach to throw up.

"Now, then. If there are no further interruptions…" The man smiled with that sick, sick smile of his, before nodding again at one of the men. The man merely looked at him, before letting out a small, near inaudible sigh, and stood near the line. He had long, perfectly straight black hair, with perfectly onyx orbs. They _had_ to be contacts. To my, and probably everyone else's, extreme surprise, all he did was look at the people before walking on. It wasn't even a long look, just a glance. He gave others a second glance, but still walked on.

That is, of course, until he reached me. I matched his eyes, and I felt like killing myself there and then. Something about him, something made you want to run away and cower in you bed. Or maybe in your relative's bed, because said relative lives really, really far away. I quickly looked away, and he stood there for what seemed like an eternity, though I knew it couldn't have been more than a fraction of a second, before moving on. I let out a breath I hadn't realised I was holding. I don't know, but I think if I were to meet that man on the street, not having met him here, I would cross the road to merely be away from him.

He finished the rest of the line, stopping twice in total. Three times if you counted me. He glanced back through the line, almost if he could see something the rest of us couldn't, and was double checking. His eyes stopped slightly three times, and I swore I saw him grinning smugly, though it was small and only noticeable by his eyes. He turned to the ginger haired man - whom I now noticed had many holes in his face, presumably from peircings - and whispered a few words. The ginger haired one nodded, before talking back.

The black haired one, who looked a lot younger, grunted. He simply brought up his arm, the unarmed one, and pointed to three parts of the line. To my horror and disgust, I was one of those three. My heart rate increased dramatically and I felt sick again. I started shaking, trying to hide behind the people next to me. Unfortunately, that wasn't working, as I found the ginger haired man's gaze upon my, and I desperately looked away. I was so afraid, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. I clasped my hands together to stop the shaking, though it didn't do much good.

The two men talked for a minute, glancing at the three points of the line. I found myself under their gazes and tried my best not to faint or burst into tears. I had to keep my mind busy somehow, so I moved my gaze to one of the men who hadn't spoke yet. I looked at his gun. I'm good at identifying guns, because my oldest brother has lots of posters with the names of the guns, their categories and what makes them so. His gun shape and size made me think rifle, and the colouring (typical 'camouflage') made it seem like a Service rifle, made for the army. Where ever these men got their guns from, it must have been a decent dealer.

The other man's was a typical assault rifle, much longer than other guns and had an extra ammunition box. This frightened me, again, because it meant to possibility of the gun being a fully automatic lighter machine gun, more commonly known as an AK47. I looked away, and realised that the two men had stopped talking. The older man tapped his pistol against his leg, smirking in his evil way. I hoped that whatever the two had decided, it didn't involve me. I know that sounds immensely selfish, because one of the other two would have to deal with it, but they were probably thinking the same thing. Human nature; self preservation above others. To my immense hysteria, the black haired man stood in front of me and said three words.

"Look at me." His voice was harsh. Cold, cruel, everything you wouldn't want to listen to. Tears escaped my eyes at his words, and I refused. I would rather be shot then look in those murderous eyes of his. I started to shake again, and he growled at my actions. He didn't sound angry, just… extremely irritated. His hand was placed on my forehead, and he snapped my head up. We locked eyes, mine being incredibly blurry, and I swear I saw a flash of red before my world turned into a swirling vortex of black.

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**A/N:** Just to make this clear, I KNOW NOTHING ABOUT GUNS! Please, please, please, if I made a mistake, _point the damn thing out_! I got it all off of Wiki, so I'm presuming it's true. Oh, yeah, and review. If nobody reviews, I'm gonna assume no-one likes, and won't bother posting the next thing. (If you're really, really lazy, just review saying "Good", 'cause I'm kinda knew to this site, so I don't know how to tell if anyone's veiw the damn story! XD).


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